


Through the Rift - Part Three

by ladydragon76



Series: Through the Rift [3]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One, Transformers: Shattered Glass
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-01-22
Packaged: 2018-03-08 14:32:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3212624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragon76/pseuds/ladydragon76
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b> Perceptor and Beachcomber succeed in getting themselves through the rift on purpose.  Now all they have to do is figure out what the source of the anomaly is so the Autobots can shut it down before the universe is torn apart.  No pressure or anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through the Rift - Part Three

**Author's Note:**

> **‘Verse:** G1, IDW, SG  
>  **Series:** Through the Rift  
>  **Rating:** R  
>  **Characters:** Perceptor, Beachcomber, Wing/Drift, Ratchet, Perceptor  
>  **Warnings:** AU like whoa, Bad G1 ‘science’, Character Death.  
>  **Notes:** Dedicated to NKfloofiepoof, without whom this story- this _series_ would not exist. I can’t possibly thank you properly for all your help, there aren’t words enough.  <3

“Whoa,” Beachcomber said, pushing himself up off the hard ground. “Wild ride.”

“It certainly was,” Perceptor agreed, frowning at the ‘ground’ between his hands.

“ _Whoa_ ,” Beachcomber said again.

Perceptor lifted his helm to look around, and felt his jaw drop. “Oh my. I believe we landed in a tree.”

Beachcomber snickered. “ _Really_ huge tree, man. Check this out.”

Pushing himself to his feet, Perceptor looked around slowly, trying to take in as much as he could. They were on a branch so wide that it defied belief. Leaves larger than the mechs themselves blocked visibility of the surrounding area, and Perceptor wasn’t even sure which way the trunk was, let alone how far off it might be. The daylight glowed green, and the air smelled like the woods near the _Ark_ after a summer rain. There was the slightest breeze stirring the air but no animal or bird sounds- no rustling, knocking, or anything to indicate life beyond the tree that surrounded and dwarfed them. Perceptor felt a strange sort of serenity and immediately checked his systems for any foreign chemicals that might be affecting him. Nothing was detected, but he decided to monitor his and Beachcomber’s behavior for a while. Serenity was nice, but lethargy could become death.

“Kinda wishin’ I could fly right about now,” Beachcomber said as he walked over to stand next to Perceptor. “Well. Fifty-fifty chance. You think the trunk will be that way, or that way?” he asked, pointing either direction in turn.

Perceptor considered, checking what he could of their location. “In previous experiences, all the mechs were drawn, or needed, to travel south. I suggest we go this way.” He pointed to their left. “We shall either find the end of the branch and perhaps get a look at this world, or find the trunk and be able to discover a way down.”

“Hey,” Beachcomber said, reaching up to lightly punch at Perceptor’s shoulder. “We made it. It worked.”

Smiling back at Beachcomber, Perceptor nodded and said, “Which means that we have just short of six point seven-two-six days to find our way down, and travel the seven hundred and nineteen point eight-eight-three miles to the next rift opening.” He tapped a fingertip against his lips. “No, I am incorrect. We have that much time to travel _and_ to set up all our equipment, and be ready to take our readings.”

“We’ll figure it out.” Beachcomber looked around as they began to walk.

They moved with caution over the uneven surface, though Perceptor was filled with an excited buzz of energy under that strange sense of relaxation. Their predictions had been correct; the data researched and compiled in the lab had been enough to successfully open a gateway and link them into a rift opening to bring them into the anomalous world. There was so much to do, so many readings to be taken. They understood how to recreate the rifts now, but what had caused them in the first place? And more importantly, how could they stop it? Perhaps everyone could get used to randomly being sucked into another world, but that was inherently dangerous and not at all ideal, not to mention the fact that the rifts _shouldn’t_ be happening at all. Something was disrupting time and space, and then tearing holes in the walls between realities. Perceptor wasn’t the only one afraid of what that could mean, but it was difficult to remain truly afraid with such a fascinating puzzle in front of him just begging to be solved.

“Oh hey, look,” Beachcomber said, breaking Perceptor out of his reverie. “We were pretty close to the trunk after all.” He pushed a large leaf aside a bit more, and Perceptor was able to see the trunk of the massive tree as well. It spread before them, wider and wider.

“Now we must decide which way to go,” Perceptor said as they drew near. “Do we travel up for the possible view and foreknowledge of the surrounding lands, or do we climb down, risk that lack of information, but gain haste?”

“I vote up,” Beachcomber said immediately. “We miss the next rift opening, we just hustle to the one after that. I’d really like to see this world.”

“Very well.”

Perceptor pulled the cabling from his subspace as Beachcomber removed the climbing gear that attached to their feet, knees, and hands. They had come prepared for every eventuality- climbing, rappelling, crossing water, just to name a few. Perceptor’s subspace was crammed full of condensed gel energon, and Beachcomber had his own supply as well. They would be fine for months barring any serious injuries, and they had everything they could think of and carry to help prevent those injuries.

Cycling his vents, Perceptor rechecked his grips, then Beachcomber’s, allowing the other mech to double check him as well.

“Up we go,” Beachcomber said with a grin and his visor bright in excitement.

“Slowly and carefully,” Perceptor added with a smile of his own.

~ | ~

The surface underneath Wing was moving, easing him up out of recharge with a gentle rocking and slow bouncing motion.

Wait.

Shouldn’t he be dead? He could remember the fire spreading throughout his body from the wound in his chest. He had _felt_ the flare of agony as his spark collapsed in upon itself. He _should_ be dead.

Right?

Wing blinked open his optics, stared at the brilliant shades of green all around him, then slowly sat up. The surface he sat on shifted, tilting more, and Wing gasped, flailing for a moment before getting his processors and antigravs engaged. He hovered, staring with wide optics at the gigantic leaf he had been lying on. It looked like something he’d once seen on a planet the Knights had inspected for possible habitation before deciding on Theophany, but on a _much_ larger scale.

 _Hhn. I never would have thought the Afterspark would be a tree._ Of course he hardly considered himself wise, so who was he to question the form of world one’s spark went to once dead?

Wing returned to the leaf and toed the edge, curious. It shifted under such light pressure, and he wondered at how he could have gotten lucky enough to land in precisely the right place so that he hadn’t simply fallen off it while unconscious. And how long had it been, after all? He seemed to still have a chrono, but if it was correct then only a few moments had passed since the strike that ended his life.

How were the others? Was the battle over by now? Was Drift safe?

Wing bit at his lip and looked around, but there was no one about to ask, and his spark felt squeezed by worry. He hadn’t meant to die, leave all those he cared about. Leave Drift. There was more for him to do, wasn’t there? He certainly didn’t feel as though he had met his potential or done enough in his life.

There had to be someone to speak to. Wing just needed to find them. He looked around again, but could see nothing but more green leaves. Light did filter down through small gaps, so that meant somewhere up there, there was a sky. He started off slow, careful of the incredibly huge branches that jutted suddenly into his path as he slipped up through the leaves. It quickly became rather fun, and his tension and worries fell away to the sheer pleasure of flight. When he finally broke free, he shot into the open sky with a whoop, then letting himself fall again. Wing dodged and twisted, laughing as he rocketed around the branches. Would it hurt if he crashed here? Would he be damaged? Knocked unconscious? Would he wake back on another leaf and get to fly more through the fresh clean air and emerald light of the tree?

Laughing in pure exaltation, Wing dove, pirouetted through a gap, then whipped around the trunk and-

A small, blue mech cried out in alarm, seeming to hang as he flailed for a moment before falling. Wing dove after him, catching him by an arm and quickly pulling the mech in close.

“I’m so sorry,” Wing said. “Are you alright?”

“I’m ok.” The blue mech smiled. “Just startled me a bit is all.” He lifted a cable to show Wing. “Wouldn’t have fallen all that far anyways, man, so it’s all good.”

Wing followed the cable up, spotting another mech still clinging to the tree and looking equally shocked as Wing felt. He flew up to the other mech, and then said, “I really am sorry. I had no idea anyone else was here.” That was a horrible excuse. What if they _could_ be hurt here? He might have caused the mech unimaginable pain.

“We believed ourselves to be alone as well,” the other mech said.

Wing carefully braced the blue mech until he was firmly gripping the tree trunk again and asked, “How did you get up here? Did you climb the whole way? Oh! I’m Wing. Sorry, death has made me forget all manners, I guess.” Relief flooded him. He wasn’t alone after all.

“Beachcomber, and this mech here’s Perceptor,” Beachcomber responded.

“Well met,” Perceptor said, “but what do you mean death?”

“Well, this is the Afterspark,” Wing replied. Wasn’t it? It had to be, right?

“No, man.” Beachcomber chuckled. “We’re not dead, and I don’t want to be. How about we continue this on a solid branch?”

Wing glanced up, then down. “Down is closer, but I can help you with up later if you like?”

Perceptor and Beachcomber shared a look, then started down the tree. Wing hovered for a moment, then decided to land and wait. He made himself comfortable on the branch, fingers rubbing over the rough surface of the bark in absentminded curiosity. Not the Afterspark? But he _died_. That slaver shot him right through his spark. One hand lifted, but Wing could feel his spark inside his chest, the warm pulse of it through his energy field. If not dead, then how had he survived? How had he come to be in this place? There were too many questions, and Wing bit his lip again to keep from shouting them all up at the mechs climbing down to him.

Once on the relative safety of the branch, the mechs took seats near to Wing and removed their climbing grips.

“Are you sure this isn’t the Afterspark?” Wing asked, looking around. He’d been to a number of organic planets during his life, but nothing like this. “I died.” He rubbed his hand over his chest where the hole had been.

“We are very sure,” Perceptor replied. “There is a mech named Megatron that came through the rift a few weeks ago, and he recalled a grenade exploding at his feet, but he was in good health when he arrived here.”

Wing knew that name and obviously hadn’t hidden his reaction to it well enough. Though these Autobots should be familiar with Megatron as well. Shouldn’t they? Did they not know the destruction he and his followers had caused? “I don’t believe I understand.”

“It’s a bit confusing,” Beachcomber said with a smile. “He’s a good Megatron from a reality where the Autobots are the bad guys.”

“And you are Autobots that are good guys?” Wing asked, gesturing to the Autobot symbols both mechs sported.

“We attempt to be,” Perceptor replied. “However, war makes even the best and most honest sparks act in evil ways at times.”

Wing could only nod to that. “Well, if I’m not dead, then where am I and how did I come to be here? Can I go home? I left behind mechs I care about, and I can only assume they are mourning my death, or at the very least concerned about my sudden disappearance.” 

“Should be possible for us to get you home. We know how to get back to our world, but we came here on purpose to study the rifts when they open,” Beachcomber said.

“Sending you home could provide us with important data,” Perceptor added with a smile.

“Will the next rift open in this tree?” Wing asked. “Is that why you were climbing it?” Could his path home to Drift be just that simple? And more importantly- “If I return to my world, will I be alive there?”

Perceptor and Beachcomber shared a look.

“Probably?” Beachcomber offered.

“You are very much alive right now. Passing through the rift does not change your current status.” Though Perceptor sounded more like he was speculating than stating a fact.

Beachcomber reached into his subspace and pulled out a handful of bite-sized, red gel cubes, and offered one to Wing. “Careful with that, they fizz a bit and the buzz will hit ya for a couple seconds until you get used to them.”

Wing took the gel, but his mind was on the uncertainty of returning to his world and living. What if he went back and dropped to the ground with a guttering spark? He wasn’t ready to die. Instead he focused on the soft fizz from the energon as it melted in his mouth. “Very tasty,” he said. Oh… Oh, there was the buzz. He snickered as his gyros did a quick twist before righting themselves. “I like these.” He popped the rest of it into his mouth, and smiled at the two mechs. “So then, will that rift be opening soon?” Perhaps he didn’t need to rush back just yet? Maybe he could help these mechs some before facing his fate?

“No, we were climbing in the hopes of reaching the top and getting a view of the surrounding lands.” Perceptor sighed, and pulled a datapad from his subspace. “I believe we’re wasting our time now, however. We’ve been climbing all day, and we’re still not there.”

Wing nodded, trying not to show the relief. “The top is still rather high up, but I have seen the land around it. It looks like this is the only tree this tall, or even nearly so, as far as the optic can see. I was able to see some lines where it looks like the environment changes, perhaps from grassy to rocky? I’m not sure, but I could go look again if that would be helpful.”

“Yes, that would be helpful, thank you.” Perceptor faced Beachcomber. “I suppose we ought to begin our descent.”

“If you would prefer,” Wing said, “I could fly you down to the ground. We’re rather far up in the air right now. Then I can fly up and look for whatever it is you need information on.” And the more useful he made himself, the longer they might be willing to suffer his presence. He had no energon, so he would be dependent on their charity if he were to stay in this world for a little while.

“Being flown down would save us some time,” Beachcomber said, looking to Perceptor.

“Are you sure you do not mind?” Perceptor asked.

“Not at all.” Wing stood. “I’m happy to help, and if you’re right and this isn’t the afterlife, then the wisest thing is to assist you both any way I can so I can return home.”

“Sounds good to me.” Beachcomber packed away his gear, then stood too. “The next rift opens in about six days. We’re planning on staying about a month or so to study them, but you won’t have too long to wait.”

“Are you certain you will be able to carry me?” Perceptor asked, looking Wing up and down. “I’m a bit larger and heavier than you.”

“I believe so,” Wing replied, eyeing the mech. He would need to be careful, but he had hauled Drift back to New Crystal City.

“Hey, Perce? Just transform, man. I can carry you, and Wing here can carry me. Easy-peasy.”

Perceptor shook his helm and sighed. “I cannot believe I did not think of that. Of course. My goodness, where is my head?”

Wing chuckled along with Beachcomber, and said, “I’m sure your thoughts are on your work.”

“They very much are, but still, I feel like a fool.” Perceptor offered a wry grin, then transformed. Most of his body folded away in an impressive display of mass displacement, leaving a much smaller microscope alt mode sitting on the branch.

Beachcomber picked Perceptor up, then smiled at Wing. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Wing stepped behind Beachcomber and wrapped his arms around the mech’s middle. “Step back just a little so you’re standing on my feet, then try to remain still. If you feel like you need a moment, say so, and I’ll land on a branch.”

Beachcomber did as asked, then Wing lifted off. He used his antigravs primarily, wings spread for balance as he took them carefully down past the leaves and branches to finally settle on the ground.

“Slag me,” Beachcomber said, looking upward as he put Perceptor on the ground so he could transform. “Maybe we shrunk?”

Wing giggled, looking up at the tall plants that surrounded them, but Perceptor surveyed it with a critical optic.

“I certainly hope not.” Perceptor pulled out a scanner, and held it up, turning slowly as it took his readings. “I do not believe we have shrunk. This is just a patch of environment from a very large scale world.”

“Onward then?” Beachcomber asked.

“Yes.”

“Where is it we need to go?” Wing asked, pushing the tall, thick green stalks out of his way as they began walking. “How is this even happening?”

“That’s what we’re working on. When you get pulled through a rift by accident, who knows, ya know? You could be anywhere.” Beachcomber grunted as he pushed the tall grass aside, trying to step between the heavy stalks. “We came through it on purpose, so what we need to do now is head this way about seven hundred and twenty miles, and we have just shy of six days to do it.” He grunted as he pushed through another few stalks.

Perceptor shoved forward as well, a frown marring his face. “We shall make it. Once we clear this grass, you shall be able to drive us there much faster.”

Wing frowned, then flew up above the grass and hovered as he absorbed the view. He had promised them information after all, but all he could see was the field stretching off into the distance. He could go higher and get a better estimate, but he thought they might be in for a long walk, especially as hard of a time as they were having. He could help here, he decided, and dropped back down into the grass.

“I could fly you,” Wing offered. “It looks like it just goes on for quite a distance, and there are two suns getting close to the horizon and making long shadows. Do you need to take readings as you travel, or is it just a matter of getting to the next spot?”

“The next spot,” Perceptor replied. “Are you sure you do not mind? You have already helped by getting us to the ground.”

“Yeah, you didn’t sign up for this,” Beachcomber added. “Wouldn’t want you to feel like our taxi.”

Wing shook his helm and smiled. “Of course not. In fact, I’ll help however you may need. I have nothing with me. No energon. No-” Oh! His Great Sword! His spark lurched and he reached a hand back, but it wasn’t there. Where was his Great Sword? He twisted back to look toward the trunk of the tree, but how would he ever find it? Had it even come through the rift with him? 

“Wing?” Perceptor reached out to grip his shoulder. “Are you well?”

“I’m a Knight and I’ve lost my sword.” Wing blinked, feeling the emptiness on his back and _stunned_ that he hadn’t noticed before. “It’s alright. I mean, it’s probably with my friends. I’m just surprised to realize.” He flicked and resettled his wing panels, and forced a smile back to his lips. “It’s alright. It wasn’t there when I woke, so it must be in my world still.” He hoped. Oh Primus, please let it be there. He couldn’t waste Perceptor and Beachcomber’s time.

“A knight?” Beachcomber asked.

“The Circle of Light is my Order,” Wing replied. “We follow the teachings of the Knights of Cybertron, Primus’ original creations.” He chewed his lower lip, glancing toward the tree again. “A Knight receives his Great Sword when he takes his vows, and I seem to have lost mine. It was in my hand when I was killed- struck. I probably dropped it.”

“We could look for it,” Perceptor offered.

“Yeah. Seems important,” Beachcomber added. “Your optics got all wide and pale there.” He pointed at Wing’s back. “Wings are trembling.”

Wing gave his wings another flick and resettled them again, cycling a breath to calm himself. “No.” He gestured up at the tree rising above them. “Where would we even begin? No, the more I think about it, the more I believe I dropped it when I was struck. I can usually sense it, and right now I can’t.” He even shut his optics and tried to reach out a little with his mind and spark, but the only life he could feel stood beside him. Wing was no expert, but now that the shock was easing back some, he could focus. “No. It’s not here.”

“If you are certain?” Perceptor asked, and Wing opened his optics in time to catch a worried look shared with Beachcomber.

“I am,” Wing said. “If it were here, I know I would sense it. And I want to help you. I think maybe I was brought here for a reason.”

Perceptor and Beachcomber shared another look, and Beachcomber said, “Ok, man, but if you want to come back and look around, that’ll be cool. We won’t just ditch you and leave you lost here to starve.”

Wing smiled. “Thank you. Now, if you’re both ready?”

Perceptor hesitated a moment, but then transformed.

“If you get tired, we can take a break,” Beachcomber said as he picked up Perceptor. “We’ve got days to get there, so there’s no rush.”

“I understand.”

Beachcomber tipped his helm southward. “Just fly that direction then. I’ll course correct if we need it.”

“Alright.” Wing stepped up closer to Beachcomber. “I think this time, and since I’ll be going a little faster, I should hold you sideways, then Perceptor can sit against our chests. If I may?” He held his arms out toward the mech.

Beachcomber lifted an arm to reach for Wing’s shoulder, and Wing dipped to pick him up, one arm going under the mech’s knees, the other around the middle of his back. He straightened, and Beachcomber settled Perceptor between their chests, and then looped his arms around Wing’s neck.

“How’s this?”

“I do not feel terribly secure,” Perceptor said, nervousness filling his voice.

“No worries. I got you, buddy mine.” Beachcomber put one hand on Perceptor and gave Wing a nod. “Ground control to Major Tom, you’re clear for take-off.”

Wing grinned at the odd comment but understood the meaning well enough. “If either of you need a break, let me know as well. Ready?” Beachcomber nodded, and so Wing launched.

~ | ~

Waiting for the rift to open that first week was all but a vacation for Perceptor and Beachcomber. Wing seemed content as well, but the two scientists were having a grand time of it. The land patch they were waiting in was exceedingly pleasant. There was a gentle breeze in the mornings and afternoons that kept the temperature comfortable despite the warmth of the twin suns shining brightly down on them, something that sounded bird-like sang sweet songs, and had Perceptor not been sure of it, he would have assumed they were in any of the multitude of pleasant spots on Earth that humans used for camping and picnicking.

Sweet-smelling trees surrounded the glen they had calculated the rift would appear in, looking like something from a fairy tale cartoon. Garlands of bright flowers hung on gently coiling vines, some trailing all the way down to kiss the spongy, grass-covered ground. Perceptor recharged beautifully on it and had made some notes about the texture and give in the hopes he could recreate it once home. Berth cushions like this ground would, in all likelihood, be well-received.

In fact, discussing the idea with Beachcomber had brought up the topic of differences between their reality and Wing’s. There was a fascinating array of similarities for the pre-war eras, but then things diverged. Wing was also part of only one group of many that had left Cybertron to escape the war. Perceptor knew of only small pockets of mechs who had done so in his history. The war was different, though Megatron’s background sounded about the same. Wing knew nothing about anyone being stuck on Earth, or Earth itself.

“So, if you are both scientists, does that mean that the war is not as…” Wing trailed off, hand fluttering as he tried to find the words. “Not as all-encompassing?”

“It’s bad, man. It’s real bad.” Beachcomber leaned back on his hands, optics on the blue, _blue_ sky and the black, star-strewn tear in it. “Few handfuls of mechs on either side. Cybertron in ruins. Wasteful, man, real wasteful. Megatron, the one from our ‘verse, he’s just got this vendetta with Prime, ya know? Prime wants peace, our world’s out there, tumbling through space and dying, but Megatron just won’t do it.”

“We can and do fight when needed,” Perceptor added. “Which is, unfortunately, all too often, though I certainly prefer to work in my lab.”

“One must defend one’s home and family. I think,” Wing said, “that maybe Megatron started his… activism for the right reasons, but the rebellion against corruption turned into destruction and tyranny very quickly. My Order gathered as many as we could that were willing to leave. We couldn’t end the war.” He shrugged, optics down and guilt showing on his face. “I’m not anywhere close to the best trained among us, but even combined we could not put a stop to it. Dai Atlas led us away, taking as many peaceful mechs as we could cram into the ships.”

“How was it you died?” Perceptor asked. “If you do not mind speaking about it?”

“Slavers and a Decepticon bounty hunter.” Wing cycled his vents, and played with the strands of grass in front of his leg. “It was my fault, but I had to save him.”

Perceptor waited, but Wing did not seem inclined to continue, and Beachcomber was lost in his own thoughts again too. Perceptor left them be, and did one last check of all their equipment, then relaxed back to watch the high, fluffy white clouds until the alarm he set warned him that the rift would be opening soon.

“It should be any moment,” Perceptor said, rising and going to sit by the equipment. Small monitors were staked into the ground and attached to myriad sensors and scanners, all of which were pointed at where the rift should open. 

Beachcomber joined him by the monitors. “I’m ready.”

“Is there somewhere I should be, or something I should be doing?” Wing asked.

“Over here might be best to ensure we do not pick you up in our readings,” Perceptor replied. “However, I think Beachcomber and I can handle everything else.”

Wing hurried over, then knelt in the grass a few steps behind Perceptor and Beachcomber. Perceptor offered him a smile and a nod, but then he felt the hum of energy over his own sensors, and quickly turned back to the scanners.

Beachcomber let out a little whoop, and behind them Wing gasped, but Perceptor was focused on the monitors. “Fascinating.”

“Yeah! Just look at that oscillation, man!”

“Yes. I was not anticipating that.” Perceptor scribbled notes on a datapad, optics flicking from one monitor to the next, then up to watch the rift itself. It reminded him of the tear in the sky above, but where that looked like the night sky, the rift was shining with radiant white light. It was so bright he had to squint, but barely even a hand’s breadth wide at the midpoint. It hovered in the air a few meters off the ground, and Perceptor believed he would need to crouch to step through it- assuming it would stretch as he entered.

“It’s collapsing,” Beachcomber announced.

“I think it has been since it opened. Very unstable.”

“Speeding up.”

Beachcomber was correct, and Perceptor continued to watch as the rift shut with a final flash of light. “Twenty-two point one-five seconds.”

“Yeah. That’s what I got too.” Beachcomber was busy making his own notes. “Not sure where that one went to. I couldn’t really see _through_ it.”

“Neither could I, but for a first scan, I think we did rather well.” Perceptor smiled. “Shall we pack up and move to the next location? We can compile our data and refine our scan parameters once there?”

“Yeah,” Beachcomber said, nodding. “Yeah, let’s get moving. Man, that was just great!”

Behind them, Wing chuckled softly. “A success then?”

“Definitely, man. Really great. I think we just filled in a few holes in our data that we couldn’t from Earth.”

“I have no doubt,” Perceptor agreed.

Wing stood. “What can I help with?”

“If you’re cool with giving us another lift, that’s a huge time saver.” Beachcomber beamed up at the white mech. “And ya know, let us know too, if you’d rather go home. We’ll get data off that too, so it’d be cool.”

“Oh no, I don’t mind helping.”

“We certainly appreciate it,” Perceptor said with a smile of his own for Wing. “We could travel the distance ourselves, but you carrying us shortens the trip greatly, which leaves more time for our work. However, as Beachcomber said, if you wish to go home at any time, we will not impede you from going through the rift.”

Wing’s wing panels fluttered, a soft pink glow blooming on his cheeks, and the gold optics dropping down and to the side. “Thank you, but I think I’d like to stay for now,” he said, meeting Perceptor’s optics again. “As I mentioned before, I think maybe there is a purpose in my being here instead of in the Afterspark. _I_ appreciate the chance to discover what that might be.”

“Well, let’s get going then, man!” Beachcomber pushed the last scanner into his subspace, and grinned.

~ | ~

“Getting some funny readings here, man,” Beachcomber said, and waved Perceptor over. “Look at this.”

“This land does have some odd magnetics,” Perceptor reminded, and knelt beside Beachcomber to fiddle with the settings.

“I don’t think it’s that.” Beachcomber scowled around at their current environment and wished they’d stayed by the last rift location a bit longer. Their second week had not been nearly as enjoyable as the first. The sky was filled with thick, slate-colored clouds, the occasional flash of lightning high up charging the air and making taking readings fiddly. Between that and the composition of stone in the boulder-strewn landscape, with its crumbling, jagged rocks poking out of the grey soil, they had struggled all week to fine-tune their instruments. “No,” Beachcomber said, “I don’t think it’s the environment.” Weird magnetic fields and fluctuations weren’t to blame for this.

“Why is that alarm going off?” Wing asked.

“Alarm?” Perceptor and Beachcomber asked together. Beachcomber followed the pointing finger, optics widening behind his visor.

“This flashing light? It looks… alarming,” Wing said, then bit his lip, his wing panels rustling and shifting on his back.

Beachcomber dove at the monitor with Perceptor on his tail. “Oh man. Oh man, what is this?”

“This cannot be right.”

“Uh…”

“A moment please, Wing,” Perceptor said.

Beachcomber shook his helm as he double checked all the connections. “Our calculations are off?”

Perceptor scowled. “No, we could not be this far off. We have both been checking and triple checking one another’s work. We could not possibly be so wrong.”

“Now please,” Wing said, his voice wavering. “I’ve spotted the problem.”

Beachcomber looked at Wing, then up into the sky where the white mech stared and pointed. “Slag me!”

“Oh my!” Perceptor gasped.

Lightning crackled over the hull of a shuttle as it fell from the sky directly overhead. The engines’ scream rose over the wind and proved someone was in it and trying hard not to crash, but Beachcomber wasn’t at all sure they would succeed. He grabbed at the equipment, uncaring about the yanked wires, or if they were shut down properly. Reboots could come later.

“Faster please,” Wing said, voice breathless and quavering as he disconnected a monitor from its stake and crammed it into his subspace.

“Oh my,” Perceptor repeated, clutching the last of the scanners to his chest and staring up.

Beachcomber snatched away the scanner and shoved Perceptor toward Wing. “Transform!”

Wing snatched up Perceptor before his alt mode even touched the ground, and then pushed him at Beachcomber before sweeping him into his arms. Thrusters roared, and Beachcomber squeezed his optics shut, clinging tightly to Perceptor and the scanner as gravity tore at them all. The shuttle struck the ground with an audial-rending shriek of metal on stone. Something pinged off Wing’s back. It pulled a curse of pain from him, and drove them to the ground. Beachcomber let himself roll, keeping Perceptor in close to his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Wing gasped.

“Ya ok?” Beachcomber asked them both, hurrying back to Wing. He set Perceptor down so he could transform, and leaned over the white mech’s shoulder to check for damage.

“It hurt, but I think I’m alright,” Wing said.

“Yeah. Just a dent and scrape. Sounded worse to me.” Beachcomber crouched back in front of him, free hand on his shoulder. “Thanks for the save, man. Anything else hurting?”

“No, I’m fine.” Wing offered a wavering smile, and squeezed Beachcomber’s wrist.

“That was rather harrowing,” Perceptor said, “but I think we should go back and check for survivors. It looks Cybertronian.”

“Yeah,” Beachcomber agreed. “Yeah, we better. Damn, man.”

The shuttle, despite the char marks all over the hull and crunched skids, didn’t look _too_ bad as they approached it. It hadn’t rolled and it didn’t appear to be on fire- a miracle there because there was a blackened gouge scraped along the rocky ground that stretched out behind the shuttle for nearly a quarter of a mile.

“I do not think the front view port is broken,” Perceptor said.

“Do you think the door is at the back or on the other side?” Wing asked. “And if the passengers are unconscious will either of you be able to open it?”

His scans didn’t tell Beachcomber much about the shuttle, but before they were close enough to the back end to check for the door he stopped short, arm swinging out to bring Perceptor to a halt too. “Life signs.”

“Cybertronian,” Perceptor confirmed. // _Greetings,_ // he broadcast over all channels. // _Do you have wounded?_ //

// _I was about to ask you the same thing._ //

“Did that sound like Ratchet to you?” Perceptor asked. // _We are well with only one minor injury._ //

“You did that on purpose,” Beachcomber said with a grin. “Shouldn’t bait the medic.”

“You recognize the-” Wing cut off, going completely still, optics locked on a white mech who had edged cautiously around the front of the shuttle.

// _You sound like Perceptor_ ,// the Ratchet sound-alike said, // _but he’s standing right here beside me pointing a rifle at your head. The frag is going on here?_ //

Beachcomber slowly lifted his hands, the scanner still in the one. // _Easy, man. We really can explain this._ //

// _By all fragging means, do tell,_ // Ratchet said from wherever he was hidden.

“That’s Drift,” Wing gasped.

Beachcomber gave the other white mech a look. He stared straight at Wing with pale blue optics and had stepped forward enough for Beachcomber to see the swords hanging from slack hands. // _Think our mechs here know each other._ // The armor was even similar in style. Odd and unique, and like nothing Beachcomber had seen before meeting Wing.

Perceptor looked between Wing and the mech he had called Drift, a small smile forming. // _In simplest terms, this world seems to be a layover point between alternate realities. I am Perceptor, and beside me are Beachcomber and Wing. Wing is not from our universe; rather, he was pulled in from his own, and we have been traveling together now for a couple weeks. I am willing to share our data, if you wish, and explain the situation more fully._ //

Drift took a few steps forward, but then jerked to a halt, glancing back toward the shuttle for only an instant. His optics sought Wing again, and beside Beachcomber, the mech whimpered.

“Give it a minute, Wing,” Beachcomber said, ready to try to restrain the mech. “Don’t want his friends shooting you.”

// _Ratchet,_ // Ratchet said by way of introduction. // _I’m sure you’ll recognize Perceptor. That’s Drift there ready to break apart if I don’t let him come see your mech._ //

A mech who was definitely Ratchet appeared around the front of the shuttle with a mech that looked enough like Perceptor for Beachcomber to believe it. Ratchet flicked a hand at Drift, and both he and Wing dashed to each other.

“It’s you!” Drift cried, voice cracking over a sob as he tackled Wing. Wing went down under the other mech, laughing and crying and clutching at him.

Beachcomber winced, remembering the dent, but Wing was fully distracted and didn’t appear to be in any pain from it.

“Well,” Ratchet said, eyeing the two on the ground, then looking both Beachcomber and Perceptor up and down. “I don’t know a mech like you. But you definitely look like Perceptor before the upgrades.”

Nodding, Beachcomber smiled and offered his hand to Ratchet. “I can see it.”

“If we touch will the multiverse implode?” Perceptor asked, reaching toward his alternate self.

“I do not know,” the other Perceptor replied.

Ratchet cringed and sidestepped as Perceptor’s hand met his counterpart’s, but Beachcomber just snickered and shook his helm. “I’m sure this is cool and all, but we ought to all sit down and fill you guys in on what’s going on.”

“Yes. Before these two implode the multiverse.” Ratchet turned to look back at Drift and Wing. “And maybe before their reunion slides past a teen rating. Drift!”

Wing giggled through his tears at Ratchet’s shout, and wiped at Drift’s face, but he did push Drift away some, and then crawled to his feet. “Oh,” he breathed, hand reaching over Drift’s shoulder to touch the Great Sword he had carried for so long.

“Dai Atlas gave it to me when you…” Drift shrugged, and then reached back, but Wing stopped him.

“No. You hold it for me.” Wing quickly pulled his hands away.

“It’s yours, Wing.”

Ratchet’s whistle rent the air, making all of them flinch. “Argue about it later. I want to know just what the frag’s going on here.”

Biting his lip, and his face bright pink, Wing caught Drift’s hand and tugged him back to the group.

“Perhaps over there?” Perceptor suggested, pointing to flat, more or less smooth patch of ground.

Beachcomber greeted Drift with a nod and followed Ratchet as he strode with purpose to the chosen spot.

“I think I found my purpose in being here.” Wing smiled down at Beachcomber, both hands clinging to one of Drift’s.

Beachcomber beamed up at the mech. “Stellar, man. Kismet.”

~ | ~

Wing had remained quiet through the explanations, hand clutching Drift’s, and even a couple hours later, it took all his will and control not to simply wrap himself around the mech and cling. Drift was as silent as ever as the two of them worked on the shuttle’s repairs, but Wing could feel the yearning in his field and waited, knowing the other mech was building up to something. Wing had a million things he wanted to say, but Drift had to have more. It had been many long _years_ for him. It had only been mere weeks for Wing.

Only a few minutes later, Drift set down the welding torch and faced Wing squarely. “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever do you have to be sorry for?” Wing asked, lifting a hand to touch Drift’s face.

Drift clasped Wing’s fingers in his own hand, turning his helm to kiss his palm. “Got you killed,” he murmured, optics squeezing shut.

“You didn’t get me killed, Drift.” Wing glanced over to where the two Perceptors, Ratchet, and Beachcomber were bent over a mobile medical sled discussing the data. Wing and Drift were not scientists of any caliber, but they could check the shuttle for damage and repair what they found. With the others so absorbed, however, Wing turned back and brushed a light kiss over Drift’s cheek. “I chose my own path. And if you want the truth, I didn’t choose very wisely all the time. I don’t regret finding you, but I have been thinking over the last few weeks while here. About us, about everything that happened. A lot. I love you, but I think I may have done wrong by you in my efforts to make you see a different way.”

“You were right though,” Drift whispered.

“But were my methods?” Wing shook his helm, then pressed another kiss to Drift’s helm before pulling back. “I craved you in your absence, but I think that maybe had that battle not happened, had Lockdown not threated New Crystal City, you might not have chosen to stay with me. And I never gave you the choice because I was afraid you would leave.”

Drift met Wing’s optics, and Wing could practically see the gears turning. “And now? What if I said no now?”

Ice lanced Wing’s spark, and he had to reset his vocalizer before the words would come out. “I would… perhaps ask Perceptor and Beachcomber if I could go with them.” He didn’t want to say the words because of the pressure they would put on Drift, but existing in the same universe as Drift and _not_ wanting him enough to chase after him like a fool sounded impossible.

“And if I said stay with me?” Drift asked, hand coming up to Wing’s face to thumb away a tear.

“Then I would stay.” Primus, Wing had already been planning to. They could barely -either one of them- focus on their task, but he had assumed again, hadn’t he? He would have to work on that.

“Good.” Drift smiled, and leaned in to give Wing a kiss that poured warmth into him and made him feel like he was melting. “Want you with me. Need you,” he whispered against Wing’s lips.

“If you two are done mooning after one another for a few minutes,” Ratchet said, startling them apart. “We’d like to see about getting the shuttle into the air and to the next rift location.”

Wing wiped at his face and turned to look up at him. “Have you pieced together anything new?”

Perceptor, the one not from Wing’s own universe, nodded. “Oh yes, but I’m afraid it is nothing good. Ratchet and Perceptor reported pain as they were pulled through, despite there being no damage to their bodies, and the readings Beachcomber and I were able to obtain indicate a growing instability.”

“I do remember it hurting,” Drift said. “Like a… Kind of like my plating was being peeled up, but compressed down against my frame at the same time.” He frowned and shrugged one shoulder. “It doesn’t really make sense.”

“No, that is precisely how I described it,” the other-world Perceptor said.

“Right, but it’s not supposed to be like that,” Beachcomber added. “No one else reported it hurting, and it didn’t hurt me and Percy when we came through.”

Wing chewed his lip and thought about it for a moment. “I can’t be sure, but the pain I felt was likely linked to my death. It burned, but I don’t recall feeling crushed or like I was being torn apart.”

“Regardless,” Ratchet said and bent to start picking up the tools Drift and Wing were neglecting. “I want to be sure we’re space worthy before that next rift opens. I want to be through it heading back to the _Lost Light_ before slag gets even more unstable.”

“Is it so dire?” Wing asked, and hurried to help pick up. “I mean, is it the next rift or never?”

“Nah, man,” Beachcomber replied, “but it’s heading that way. Percy and I are gonna get you guys through the next one, double check some ideas, then duck through the next to go home ourselves.”

“And hope to the Pits you aren’t ripped apart,” Ratchet muttered.

Wing looked to Beachcomber in concern, but the mech waved him off. “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine. Important bit,” the blue mech said and smiled at Wing, “is that you’re going back home to your own family.”

Not quite, Wing thought, but he had Drift, they were on equal footing, and he would have a chance to atone for his mistakes while searching for the rest of that family.

~ | ~

“Good luck,” Perceptor said, and clasped Ratchet’s wrist. “We appreciate your assistance.”

“Good luck to you,” Ratchet replied, mouth twisting to the side a bit in a wry almost-grin. “You’re the ones that who to figure out how to stop this slag. Nothing we’ll be able to do from our side.”

No pressure, Preceptor thought and smiled a bit as he shared a look with his counterpart.

Ratchet huffed and stomped into the shuttle, the other Perceptor following him after a nod of farewell. Perceptor found he liked his counterpart, but there seemed to be something tragic to the mech. He didn’t dig, fearing what he would learn -which was certainly a new experience.

Drift waved as well, then walked up the ramp to hover by the door while Wing said his goodbyes.

“Thank you,” Wing said with a soft smile for Beachcomber and Perceptor. “And I do wish you both the best of luck.”

“No problem, man. It’s cool that you found your way home and back to a mech that cares so much about you. Fate,” Beachcomber said with feeling. “It’s a beautiful thing.”

Perceptor nodded. He did not feel that Wing finding a way to return home to the mech he loved -years in the future of his own reality- meant they were definitely going to piece the last of their information together. He was too pragmatic to think that they would discover the source in time to stop the multiverse from collapsing in on itself. But Wing was so happy, Perceptor didn't want to bring him down, so he said, “Once we are home we will have a better lab to work from and process the information. I am confident we will find the solution.”

“Come on, Wing,” Drift called, and waved again at Beachcomber and Perceptor. “It’s almost time.”

Perceptor squeaked in surprise as Wing clutched him into a tight hug. Beachcomber laughed as he was given the same treatment.

“Thank you. Goodbye,” Wing called, and hurried up the ramp to Drift.

“Drift’s right,” Beachcomber said, offering a final wave of his own before tugging Perceptor’s arm and trotting down the hill and away from the shuttle. “Only have about ten minutes to get back to the monitors.”

“That is plenty of time,” Perceptor replied. He waited for Beachcomber to transform, then did so himself, dropping into the passenger seat.

Beachcomber drove them over the rolling hills, his tires crushing the lavender-shaded grass and making a fragrant, almost fruity scent fill the air. Perceptor rather liked this landscape with its vaguely pink sky and curious, glowing insects that came out at night. They had already scouted ahead to the next rift, the one they would take home. Not all the lands were as pleasant, but the route was mapped, which was honestly more than they usually had before continuing on.

Beachcomber pulled to a stop at the crest of a hill, and Perceptor transformed before moving to their scanners and monitors. He adjusted one, angling it on its stake in the ground so he would more easily be able to see it and the others.

“Three minutes,” Beachcomber said and knelt beside Perceptor.

They whiled away the time checking and rechecking the equipment despite knowing it was all in perfect working order. Only a mile away, the shuttle’s engines whined as it lifted off and maneuvered into place.

“Twenty,” Beachcomber said, and Perceptor lifted his helm to watch.

The shuttle hovered, nose angled down just a little, and Perceptor admired what a talented pilot Drift must be to hold it so steady.

“Ten. I’m worried it’ll hurt them,” Beachcomber confessed.

“As am I.” Perceptor was worried how much discomfort he and Beachcomber would suffer in a week, too.

“Here we go.”

The rift shimmered into existence just in front of the shuttle, and the shuttle launched forward. Light and space bent and twisted, refracted, and it almost looked as though the shuttle was sucked forward into the rift. A final, blinding flare of white light, and the rift closed.

“Whoa.”

Perceptor scribbled his notes onto a datapad while shaking his helm. “Fascinating. I wonder if we shall be compressed in such a way?”

Beachcomber chuckled. “Man, Perce. I don’t think I want to think about that yet.”

“We should be prepared. Our observations comparing our arrival here against returning home could be a critical piece to the puzzle.”

“I think the critical piece is that we sourced it back to our own universe,” Beachcomber said as he began to shut down the scanners and unplug the monitors.

Perceptor agreed and moved to help pack up their equipment. “Do you wish to move on tonight?”

Beachcomber laughed and shook his helm. “Tomorrow’s soon enough. Let’s watch the pretty lightning bugs tonight.”

~ | ~

“So it was painful?” Megatron asked and leaned against one of the lab tables. He crossed his arms over his chest and tried not to fidget with impatience as they waited on the last model to run through Teletraan.

Perceptor nodded. “As Drift described it. It was as though someone was trying to peel up my plating as well as crushing me in a vise at the same time.”

“Damn,” Wheeljack hissed. “No fraggin’ thanks.”

“And yet, I must attempt it as soon as it can be arranged,” Megatron said. “As much as I like this world, I find myself restless in my desire to return to my people, and that isn’t the only reason to move with haste.” Beachcomber reached up and held onto his wrist for a moment in silent empathy.

He was certainly correct, Perceptor thought, feeling a rare impatience. The fabric of reality was tearing itself apart, and they _should_ be able to tell the source location, but only once Teletraan finished processing the information.

Skyfire shifted, large wings lifting and dropping in his own agitation, but before he could move onto verbal expressions of frustration, the computer chimed. He dove toward the readout, snatching it up to be read, and then reread. “I know these coordinates,” Skyfire said, his voice soft and grave, then passed the flimsy to Perceptor.

“As do I,” Perceptor sighed. “This will complicate things.” Did this mean that Soundwave and Starscream were unaware? Was _Megatron_ unaware?

Wheeljack leaned over the work table to look, and growled, “Me too. Slag.”

“What does this mean?” Megatron asked, and of course, Perceptor thought, he wouldn’t know. He longed for Cybertron but knew nothing about the location of the Cybertron in this reality.

“It means there is only one thing to be done.” Perceptor opened his comms. // _Perceptor to Soundwave. I require a secure line._ //

// _Soundwave receiving,_ // Soundwave intoned only an instant later. The comms crackled with a short fuzz of static. // _Line secure._ //

Perceptor cycled his respiration and said, // _We have tracked the source._ //

**Author's Note:**

> [The Tree by LB82](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7263373/chapters/16491517)


End file.
